Ch'at Taskebah - To Betray
by Grayson's Redoubt
Summary: Few things can shatter the shell of a Force-sensitive Chiss, but betrayal from a trusted companions is one of such.


_"One of your own plots to betray you."_

Two sets of footsteps echo across the open hallway. The lighter steps belonged to a Juggernaut, shorter than the tales would tell. The other steps belonged to Captain Quinn, the man she had plucked off Balmorra for her own crew.

They were to get a transmitter in order to reach Corellia.

It had all been a lie.

Treachery and backstabbing. For someone who had been stabbed in the back before, for someone who had promised Vette she would watch out— Prard'raya'nurudo had failed.

"It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There's no martial law and no special signal emitter. Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed."

The warrior could hear the hitch in his words, the hesitation, and she forced a stony facade over her own features.

"After all we've been through together?"

"I act today with a heavy heart. Baras has always been the anchor of my career and, in my opinion, of the Empire. I didn't want to choose between the two of you. But he's forced my hand, and I must side with him. Once you're gone, your crew will either join Baras with me or be killed."

A blue hand slipped down to touch the hilt of her lightsaber. If she must stand between the Captain and her crew, she would, but Drayan would not kill him. She'd made the mistake of letting someone in too far, and that mistake could not be remedied. "I really thought you were smarter than this."

"—After all this time observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses. These war droids have been programmed specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure." He was nervous, she noticed; she could sense his heartbeat even through the overwhelming swell of confidence.

"Your confidence in the odds is your biggest weakness." Freckle dusted features contorted in a snarl, but any menace she mustered up was snuffed out in an instant, red eyes blurred with dampness. "Quinn— Malavai… please."

"I _am_ sorry, my lord." Those blue eyes she knew so well flickered away from her, staring at a spot just behind her, at empty space. "If anything, I'm underestimating my droids' chances. You'll find they are virtually immune to you."

Electricity sparked behind the man clad in Imperial uniform, and before she knew it, she had snapped into action, relying on the Force to guide her actions. Her vision was useless, blinded as she was by her own bitter regret and by the pain in her chest. Drayan's hand flashed out, shoving the man into the nearest bulkhead, and her red blade flashed against phrik and cortosis alloy armoring. The lightsaber did little damage, naturally, shorting here and there.

It mattered little. A cry of frustration, of anger and of pain, amplified by the Force, did well enough to destroy one, metal once a droid now useful only as scrap. The second droid proved less of a challenge. She knew how to destroy them now, and with lightsaber still in hand, the Chiss woman reached forward, crushing mechanical pieces telekinetically, turning cogs into shards and delicate internals into no more than garbage.

When both droids had fallen, then she turned her attention to the hurled Captain, now back on his feet and blaster in hand- loosely so.

"I should have known. I thought I'd programmed the perfect killing machine for you. I was painstakingly precise." The blaster fell, clattering against the floor. "I— I am at a loss."

Against her better instincts —the animal instincts, the ones screaming to cut down the man who had stabbed her in the back, the man who planned to have her killed— she hung her lightsaber back upon her belt, stepping forward. She had never been Malavai's height, but now she felt it.

"I have betrayed you. Conspired with your most hated enemy. I know it is meaningless to express my deep regret. I don't expect your mercy."

Drayan's hands clenched, and for a long moment, she said absolutely nothing, letting the Captain's words hang in the air between them.

Then, with a gesture, anger causing it to be wild, haphazard, she threw him across the hangar, ignoring the sickening crunch as he hit the durasteel. Life still flowed, no blood spilled, but he was well and truly out of the fight now. "I will keep you alive. And we will see if you earn my trust again."

And so she crossed the hangar, walking slower than any time before, and found a seat on a crate tucked in a corner, waiting. When Quinn showed signs of life, that was when she slid off, nudging his body over with her boot, waiting to wake up, to find herself hopelessly tangled in sheets and soaked in sweat, but unharmed and in the darkness. Away from— from _this_. "Get up."

He followed her command, painfully getting to his feet.

—He had deserved that pain.

"My lord… If you will permit me to stay in your charge, my dedication to you will never come into question again."

Force, she hadn't hurt him too badly, had she?

_"Family is who you are close to— whether you want them to become that or not."_

Yes, he was family. Her crew, her captain, her pilot. "Trust is difficult to rebuild, Quinn. But I'm willing to try."


End file.
